incandescence
by thinkatory
Summary: DCEU. Bruce may or may not be favoring Barry. Barry may or may not have a crush visible from space. Someone's gotta do something about it.


Months go by.

The Justice League exists. It thrives. Bruce isn't exactly happy - he's not very good at being happy - but he feels a lightness that feels foreign. And in the midst of that, with hamfisted plots by malicious forces across the world, there's one thing that threatens that warmth in him more than anything.

Barry Allen is sitting across from him at The Table, eating a chicken dinner, prepared hastily by Manor staff, like his life depends on it. "So," he manages between bites, "the Penguin, um, is anyone else wondering why monocles are a thing? Like, it looks painful. I'd be a villain too if I had to wear one of those things. Why not wear glasses? I don't get it."

Bruce sighs. He is a cynical man at heart, but it's hard not to feel like things could be all right when someone as incandescent as Barry is around.

* * *

So there was a meeting, right, and Barry was listening, mostly, he caught a lot of what Bruce was saying in the midst of watching his mouth, he did, but he also isn't one hundred percent sure what's going on, so there's that. He leaves the room in a reasonable, non-Flash-y hurry, curling the cuffs of his hoodie into his sleeves (he always feels so underdressed at Wayne Manor), when he hears Diana call, "Barry!"

He stops, then turns, giving her a fingergun. "Yes. That's… me. How can I help you?" Wow, he is not socially equipped to be a member of a team ever.

Diana strides towards him with a smile. "I wanted to talk to you. Walk with me."

"Yeah," he says instantly. "I mean, of course." She's terrifying, but in a good way, but also a way that makes him think, _I am not qualified to be here. She's a demigoddess or something, Clark is Superman, and I just run really fast. _

They finally get out of Wayne Manor, and she gestures for him to join her. "Let's take a drive."

"I don't really drive," Barry says automatically, then shrugs, awkward.

"It's slow, but we'll get to where we need to go," Diana says; she's obviously amused for some reason. "Let's go."

Well, he has nothing better to do. He climbs into the passenger seat of her very fancy car and shifts the seat to get more legroom, realizing that a comfortable silence has settled once she starts the car. "So," he says, cheerily through his concern. "You wanted to talk?"

"I wanted to talk about you and Bruce." She keeps her eyes on the road, but there's no way she misses the way his head ducks and his cringe. "Barry. Please."

"Can we not? We could, like, not," Barry says, his voice a little strained.

"I know what I see," she says, voice kind enough. "I see the way you watch him, you follow him."

"He's our leader or something," Barry mumbles. "You follow leaders, it's what you do."

"He watches you." Diana looks at him finally, as though to provide emphasis to what she's saying. "When you make your jokes, he almost smiles."

Is he going pink? Is he a teenaged idiot? "'Almost smile' is better than the 'awkward silence' I usually get, that's true."

She sighs. "Listen to what I'm saying."

He starts going and can't stop. "I'm trying. But it's weird. It's weird that you know and - I keep going on mission with him and he's nice to me, in his Bruce-y sort of way, and it's hard not to, uh, to, uh, but he's _Batman _, Diana, he's _Bruce Wayne _and I'm just some guy who got in a lab accident." Yeah, word vomit clean up in aisle four.

"You are so much more than that," Diana says, tone firm. "And Bruce knows that. It's why he chose you and invited you to be one of us. It's why he cares for you."

"Where are we going?" Barry finally asks, to distract from the way his face seems to be burning.

"That would be telling." They seem to be heading into Gotham City proper. "You can't avoid your feelings forever, you know. Not when he is going to be there beside you in battle."

"It's not been battle so much as skirmishes lately," he says, skilled in the largely-online argumentation skill of nitpicking word choice.

Diana raises her eyebrows at him. "You care for him," she says. "Say it. For your own good."

Again: when a demigoddess says you have to, you sort of have to. "I have a thing for Bruce Wayne. Does that work?" he gets out.

"You tell me," she returns.

He considers it. Now it's real, this feeling that started months and months ago when Bruce clapped him on the shoulder after a mission in Gotham and color burst on his cheeks and only got worse as he had mission after mission with him, and saw each different Bruce in shades like a prism breaking a beam of light into color. Batman, fake Bruce, real Bruce, planning Bruce, brooding Bruce, just taking each one in makes him want to touch his face and bring out something new.

"Yeah, it's all right," Barry supposes. "Are you actually going to tell me where we're going, though, because that'd be nice."

"Somewhere to be?" Diana answers, comfortably evasive.

"I'm so hungry," he admits.

"That's good," she says, now openly smiling. "You're going to eat."

"Good." He can deal with that. "So, how are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

"Good." An awkward pause. "Great."

* * *

Bruce finishes discussing the plans for the night with Alfred when he heads back to Clark, who's been waiting patiently on the other side of the long room. "Did you want to stay for dinner?" he asks, a shade wry.

"No," Clark says, and smiles. "We need to talk. C'mon."

Bruce raises his eyebrows, but follows Clark, hands in his pockets. "What can't you tell me in front of everyone else?"

"It's not official business." Clark glances back at him, a step ahead. "Diana and I were talking."

Is this gossip? Bruce doesn't do gossip. Not willingly, not unless it's part of his cover. "Right."

"You've been favoring Barry," Clark says; Bruce isn't sure what happens with his face, but Clark laughs. "I'm not calling you out, Bruce, relax."

"I don't know what you mean," Bruce answers, a little tense. "I'm keeping an eye on him. Training him."

"Is that it?" Clark raises his eyebrows. "Purely professional?"

"I don't know what else it would be." Damn it, he's on the defensive. He hates that. "You're angling for something."

"I think you like him," Clark says, obviously amused. "Arthur needs wrangling, but you don't drag him off from Atlantis every time you need some backup."

"I don't always call Barry," Bruce says, doing his level best not to mutter. "He's conveniently located."

"Bruce." They're getting closer to the exit, and Clark stops him to put his hands on his shoulders; it takes everything in Bruce not to shrug his hands off. "I know you're not going to admit this to me right now, but will you just do me a favor and get in the car outside?"

Bruce looks at him for a long moment, and knows that he's lost to whatever machinations are being made on his behalf. He can find a way out of this if he needs to. "Fine."

"Good." Clark is trying not to smile. "We'll see you."

"Yeah," Bruce says with a sigh, as they head to the exit. Clark flies off, and Bruce climbs into the back of the car, which immediately heads off. "Great," he says, to no one in particular, then asks the chauffeur, "Where are we going?"

"Downtown Gotham," the chauffeur answers.

Bruce has an idea of where this is heading, so he calls Alfred. "I won't be in for dinner."

"Of course," Alfred says easily. "Will you be back for your other engagements?"

"We'll see how it goes," Bruce says, restraining a sigh. "Thank you, Alfred."

"Of course, Master Bruce."

Bruce sits back as he hangs up the call, and waits until they reach a high-end restaurant in Gotham. It's no surprise to him that Barry lurks uncomfortably outside, looking incredibly out of place. He gets out of the car and approaches him, but Barry speaks first upon spotting him. "Oh, good. I mean, Diana said to just wait out here but this is sort of... a nice area, and I'm sort of…" He plucks at his clothes. "I mean, yeah. I feel weird."

"Well, it's a little unconventional for this kind of place, but they've probably seen worse," Bruce figures. "Let's go inside." He is intent to ignore what this apparently is until it gets to be unbearable.

"Yeah, so, French," Barry says from behind him, then catches up. "I don't think I've ever had French, honestly. No, I _definitely _haven't."

"I'll let you know what's good," Bruce promises, and stops by the maitre'd. "Reservation under Wayne. Thank you."

Barry's looking at him intently right now. "Did you - "

"No," Bruce says, a little pained. "I didn't. I assume Diana did."

"Oh." Barry looks like he's dying inside. "Well, I'm hungry, so if you're willing to - pay - _I can't exactly afford this stuff _," he whispers.

"I know." Bruce kind of hates that he finds this all so endearing. "I've got it." The waitress leads them to the table, and for some reason suddenly the intimacy of the situation is stifling. He's been physically closer to Barry before, but the trappings of a _date _make this all so stark in his brain.

Barry is the first to speak, because he usually is. "Look," he says, already cringing, "this wasn't my idea."

"If you're uncomfortable," Bruce decides on saying, "you can go."

"I'm always uncomfortable," Barry admits. "But - that's not what I'm saying. I'm trying to say that I'm sorry that I got us into this situation? You don't need to be dealing with me and my…" He trails off, looking unsettled.

"Your…" Bruce prompts without hesitation.

Barry exhales. "Hangups," he says, then just outright blurts it out: "On you."

Bruce raises his eyebrows. "You," he repeats. "On me?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no," Barry says, as though something awful has dawned on him. "No, I ruined the date before it even started. We haven't even looked at our menus and I'm dressed like a homeless person in a fancy restaurant and you're _Bruce Wayne _and I'm - "

Bruce shuts him up by touching his hand, and holding it lightly. "Stop," he says, nice and measured. "I'm surprised. That's all."

"Why are you surprised?" Barry asks, astonished. "You're... you."

"There are plenty of reasons not to like me," Bruce says, painfully dry. "Ask Arthur."

"Well, I like you," Barry says, and there's faint pink in his cheeks.

Now it's time for Bruce to say something, but he's too interested in the color in Barry's face and absolute shit at saying what he feels, so he just reaches across the table and touches Barry's cheek for a moment, something dawning in his chest at the way Barry's eyes fall shut at the touch,

"We should probably look at the menu," Barry murmurs after Bruce pulls back.

"Probably," Bruce says, and opens it. "Hmm. Look at the second page."

Dinner goes normally, for what passes for normal with Barry; he eats a meal and a half ravenously while talking about his work at the crime lab, then presses Bruce for details on what's going on with Wayne Enterprises. No one ever really asks that; they just assume piles of money land in his bank account by his doing nothing. It's a nice change.

It's after that's the question. Bruce doesn't know if it was exactly a date, but it definitely wasn't professional and he doesn't know if he'd count what he has with Barry as normal enough to be categorized as a meal between close friends. He pays, and looks across the table at Barry, who's looking at him intently until their eyes meet, then his gaze flicks away.

"What do you think?" he asks Barry.

"What do I think about what?" Barry asks, wary; Bruce immediately realizes how nervous he is.

"This." He gestures at the table, the situation. "Tonight."

"I think I had fun," Barry says, daring to meet his gaze. "I don't, you know, make a habit. Of dates. So this was nice."

It's sort of an evasion, but Bruce lets it go for now. "I had a good time," he allows himself to admit.

"Would you do it again?" Barry seems surprised he's even said it, and looks like he regrets it instantly. "If you want. It's up to you."

"Yeah," Bruce says, a touch amused, after a pause, because it doesn't feel like too much of a concession. "Yeah, I can make that happen."

Barry is clearly stunned, swiping a hand over his face. "Wait, you're serious."

"Barry, I'm always serious," Bruce says wryly, tilting his head.

"You know what I mean," Barry insists, and the color in his face is more pronounced.

The bill arrives, and Bruce signs it swiftly. "Let's get out of here," he says to Barry, and stands, pushing back his many vivid thoughts of how to continue the night as he leads him outside.

* * *

Barry just went on a date with Batman, and it was amazing (_ he touched his face _). Now he's following him back onto the Gotham streets like a dumb puppydog. "Where are we going?" he presses.

"Where do you want to go? I've got a car," Bruce says with a shrug. "Only fair that you take the slow route with me." He pauses before he says, "I mean, if you want to go somewhere together."

"I'm open to suggestion." Barry can't remember being this stupidly happy in his life. He's such an idiot. Is he bouncing? He tries to stop.

"Get in the car," Bruce decides for both of them, and they get into the back of the limo. Barry examines the interior of the limo with interest, then is caught by Bruce's hand covering his. He looks down at it, then looks up at Bruce, who is almost-smiling. "Barry," he says. "What do you want to do?"

Barry doesn't really have a long thought process about if or why he's going to kiss Bruce; he just leans in and pulls him into a kiss as thorough as he thinks he can manage, uncomfortably already aroused at this much because Bruce smells great and his mouth is just as wonderful as Barry may have daydreamed. "Fuck," he breathes after, pulling back.

Bruce is staring at him in this very interested way that Barry doesn't think he's ever seen directed at him, and it's _also _arousing. _Fuck _. "Do you want to go back home, Barry?" Bruce says, to the point.

"No," he admits, head dropping slightly away.

"What do you want?" Bruce touches his chin to lift his gaze back to him.

Barry looks him in the face. "You," he says, and it lays him bare but frees all that anxiety about finally just _saying it _. "I want you."

Bruce nods slightly, expression not changing, then knocks on the glass partition. "Back to the Manor," he says, and turns his focus back to Barry. "Where were we?"

"I have no idea but I am incredibly open-minded," Barry finds himself saying.

Bruce considers him, and his focus is intense all over again; it's hard not to squirm. "Come here," he says finally.

Barry draws closer to him, stupidly uncertain, then Bruce kisses him just as intently as his gaze. It is _so hot _, and Barry can hardly stand it, just trying to keep up as they kiss again, again, again, each one harder to believe than the last. Bruce's hands seek to the nape of his neck and down his chest.

This leads to a question Barry has never known how to answer, really, where do you put your hands? Now he's nervous, but he just awkwardly touches Bruce, feeling muscle in his shoulders and oh my god he grabs his ass on instinct and it's kind of amazing. Bruce shifts against him, hips to hips, when he does, and if you had told Barry Allen that he'd be making out with Bruce Wayne in the back of a limo earlier today he would have laughed and probably jerked off to the idea later. Anyway.

It's hideously good, the feeling coursing through him right now, electric like the Speedforce and just as hard to control. "Bruce," he murmurs as they break.

"What?" Bruce says, tone just as muted, resting his forehead to Barry's.

"Do you really want to do this?" _Why are you saying this, Barry. _

"I don't do anything I don't want to do," Bruce answers, and kisses him as though to emphasize the point. It makes Barry dismiss the worries, at least for now, because there is no way to feel badly when Bruce Wayne is kissing you like that.

They're at Wayne Manor after a few more minutes of making out, and Bruce pulls himself away from Barry. "Let's go," he says, and gets out of the car. Barry stares blankly at where he was, then pulls himself out of the car, following Bruce as he goes back inside of the Manor.

There's a stairwell not far in, and they head upstairs; Barry catches Bruce's hand after a burst of speed and says, faltering more than he'd like, "I, I, I don't know."

Bruce stops at the top of the stairs. "About what?" he asks.

"_ This _." Barry doesn't want to say it.

"You can leave whenever you want to," Bruce says, and considers him. "I didn't mean to pressure you into anything. I just wanted to…"

"You couldn't kiss me in public. I get it." Barry's head is spinning a little. "Let's go."

Bruce nods, looking about as concerned as he can manage, and leads him off to a crazy large bedroom that looks almost exactly like Barry would've guessed Bruce's bedroom looks like, all classy and muted colors. He kicks off his shoes in a very orderly fashion, then undoes his tie, setting it aside. "Sit," he says to Barry.

On the bed. There's a bed. Obviously, it's a bedroom. Barry scratches his head but goes to sit and looks up at Bruce. "I think I'm dreaming," he says.

"I think you could come up with something better than me," Bruce says with mild amusement as he sits next to him.

"Doubt it," Barry answers.

There's a pause between them, then Bruce draws closer, but Barry kisses him first out of sheer instinct. He notices that Bruce is always quick to pin him down, but Barry hardly minds, the bed more comfortable and Bruce's body more closely aligned with his now than in the car.

He's so turned on by now, he doesn't think that he can resist what's obviously going to happen even though it feels like it may be a bad idea to fuck your teammate, oh, god, what is even going on. He wonders about leaving right about the time that Bruce palms his cock through his jeans and he realizes that he really hates clothing, especially pants.

"Okay, ooookay," Barry breathes when they break, and he realizes he's still wearing his shoes; he kicks them off awkwardly; they hit the floor with a solid pair of _thunk_s. "Oh god, I'm sorry, I suck," he confesses to Bruce.

Bruce has this weird look on his face, of appreciation, one he has literally never seen on a person aimed at him before. "You're fine," he says. "Relax." He undoes the fly of Barry's jeans and slides a hand into his boxers. "Everything's fine."

"Ungh," Barry manages, and closes his eyes as Bruce starts the action for the night.

The sex is awkward, in part because it's Barry, in part because it's Bruce, in part because it's a first time with someone and Barry knows that's how it is, but oh Christ it's still hot, and he rests against Bruce afterward, feeling lit up like neon. "I don't usually give it up on the first date," he admits. "Or ever."

"I think it's fine," Bruce says, and toys with Barry's hair. "Do you want to keep this quiet?"

"Diana knows," Barry mumbles.

"So does Clark." Bruce rolls his eyes a little, but his heart's not in it.

"But they don't know about this," Barry says slowly. "Obviously."

"Why don't we see how this plays out," Bruce says after a pause. "We can go from there."

How will this play out? Barry isn't sure he can think past _Bruce Wayne just fucked me _right now. "Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah, that works."

"Good," Bruce says, and pulls him into a brief kiss.

Barry smiles after, and though it's weary, it beams.


End file.
